Undertow
by SewerSurfin
Summary: As a scientist, Donatello cannot understand why his brothers act the way they do...why they chase frivolous dreams and worthless hopes. Love is not something that is logical for them. He sees it through the eyes of a realist, while the truth churns under the placid surface as a turbulent undertow.


**Disclaimer: TMNT are not mine.**

 **A/N: Something that popped in my head when I should have been sleeping. This takes place in the 1987 'verse, some years in the future when the Turtles are 21. This is interspersed with internal thinking of Donatello, trying to figure himself and the world around him out...he's trying to separate the mind of a scientist from the mind of a thinking, feeling sentient being. His thoughts are in italics.**

Donatello was trying to remain objective about the whole thing. As his brothers moved across the dance floor with their partners, Donatello reminded himself that such things were frivolous.

He was a scientist after all, and a scientist's job is to hypothesize, experiment, and analyze the results. Emotion and bias have no place in this realm, as they can skew the data and thus make any outcome unreliable.

 _What's the point?_ He wondered as his eyes scanned the event hall.

His gaze fell on his younger brother, the care-free Michelangelo. It was no surprise to the genius turtle that Michelangelo was a natural at dancing. The outgoing orange masked turtle was in his element, twirling Kala with effortless flourish and then seamlessly drawing her close. Her silken gown flared with every spin and her joyous laughter carried over to Donatello from his seat at the far side of the hall. He flinched at the sound and hastily averted his eyes when he saw how enamored Michelangelo's expression became every time he pulled her into his embrace.

 _Love, companionship, attachment...it all comes from biological need…_ Donatello thought, a scowl beginning to darken his features. _There's no other purpose for it..._

He took a jerky sip of his wine, the bitter, spicy taste filling his mouth and sliding down his throat as he swallowed. He was hyper-aware of the fact that his trembling hand was gripping the glass too tightly, the finely crafted stem biting into his palm and fingers. He caught his reflection in the rippling, blood red liquid and attempted to craft the glower that was mirrored in the wine's surface into one of indifference.

When his attention returned to the group of party goers before him, his eyes trained themselves on his next elder sibling, the wise-cracking Raphael. Raphael was holding onto Mona Lisa, one hand on her shoulder and the other around her waist. He was moving stiffly and awkwardly, tripping over his feet from time to time. Mona Lisa seemed to be patiently instructing him, speaking words Donatello could not hear while Raphael listened raptly and moved to correct his footing as they swayed through the steps. As more time passed, Raphael got the rhythm down and his motions grew more graceful, his growing confidence and ninja training mingling to create a smooth flow.

 _My brothers live in an idealistic world of delusions, fuelled by hormones and the drive to reproduce…_ Donatello's voice was bitter in his own mind. _At least I have the logic to recognize our lives for what they really are, and to engage myself in more time worthy pursuits..._

Donatello frowned deeply and hunched forward in his seat, his shoulders drooping. He regarded the delicate paisley pattern on the cream colored table cloth, running idle fingers over the satiny fabric. His breath stuck in his lungs momentarily before exhaling heavily through his mouth in a defeated sigh. He wiggled his confined toes uncomfortably in the hard dress shoes he was wearing and unfastened the top button of his tuxedo shirt while loosening his purple tie.

He raised his head again to the crowd, this time settling on his eldest brother, Leonardo. As expected, the leader in blue was stately and regal, each dance step flawlessly planned and executed. His eyes were locked fixedly on those of his dance partner, Lotus, each moving in perfect sync with the other as if they shared a telepathic link. Leonardo's expression was serious, but his mouth was turned up ever so slightly in a contented grin.

Donatello took another stiff drink of his wine. It went down too easily and traced a warm path to his stomach. He felt a twinge of... _something..._ he attempted to put a name to. Extremes of expressed emotion did not come easy to Donatello. He routinely kept them locked away, trapped in the caverns of his mind at depths he rarely dared to traverse. Powerful feelings interfered with logic and got in the way of his thinking; they clouded his mind and made him lose focus. His rapid fire thinking had saved them all more times than he could count, so much so that the alternative frightened him. But the emotions were still there, churning like a turbulent undertow below the placid ocean surface.

He pulled a pen out of the pocket of his tuxedo and began doodling random chemical formulas on a frayed napkin. He wrote his name repeatedly on the napkin, each time in a different language. English, Italian, Latin, Egyptian Hieroglyphs, ancient Sumerian… The fluffy material folded and ripped under the pressure of the pen, but he continued with his distraction.

 _Human emotions, human wants, human needs, human acceptance...all a waste for those who are_ not _human...and yet my brothers feel them nonetheless. I, of course_ don't _need any of that! I am a genius, afterall..._

He paused mid-word, his pen frozen on the napkin.

 _It would be selfish to personally desire those things, anyways._

Over the years, Donatello had grown accustomed to his place in the family, like a comfortable bo strapped just right in his belt. Socialization had never been his strong suit, his tendency to go on lengthy tangents and geek out over the latest tech off putting to some. His vocabulary went over most of his acquaintances' heads, and his budding fascination with quantum physics was not something his family shared. He was Mr. Fix-it, Mr. Deux ex Machina: the go to guy for all things broken and the savior of hopeless situations. He always had the right gadget, the right knowledge, the right solution...and the right position on the sidelines.

He tapped the pen thoughtfully on the napkin, creating a sea of black ink dots amongst his scrawls. The genius turned his attention back to his brothers, the three of them lost in their own worlds of gentle music, warm arms, and swirling satin. Raphael whispered something in Mona Lisa's ear, causing her to blush and swat him playfully on the shoulder. Lotus and Leonardo had visibly relaxed, lowering some of their typical ninja poise. Michelangelo was grinning like a kid in a candy store (or in his case, an all you can eat pizza buffet) as Kala leaned in and rested her head on his tuxedo covered plastron.

Donatello scrunched his beak in an indistinguishable blend of distaste and sorrow.

He gulped down the rest of his wine in an attempt to drown out the thoughts whirring through his head like one of his gadgets on the verge of exploding. His mind was beginning to feel pleasantly foggy, a sensation he knew was attributable to the alcohol. Besides a sip of Splinter's sake during a game of truth or dare that he had played with his brothers at the age of thirteen, Donatello had never partaken in drinking. Leonardo had never been a fan of alcohol's ability to dull the senses, but Raphael and Michelangelo had always looked forward to their 21st birthdays so they could try it. Although not a part of the human world, Leonardo insisted that they honor that law. Thus, Michelangelo had decided that he wanted a "mondo tubuloso" party for his 21st, which Leonardo would only agree to if it were "a proper event, reflective of their roles as heroes".

 _I don't need any of that…_

 _...someone with_ my _brains_ …

Donatello lowered his head to the table surface the hard, flat plain pushing against the center of his forehead. He groaned quietly, the sound vibrating deep in his chest.

 _Why can't I turn off these feelings like I can shut down one of my inventions? I'm capable of most anything...except…_

"What's the brother of the birthday boy doing over here by his lonesome?"

Donatello languidly rolled his head in the direction of the voice, his forehead never breaking contact with the table. Standing next to him was April's best friend, Irma, in a sparkling violet dress which stopped right above her ankles, her feet clad in matching heels. She firmly held a clutch in one hand, and her thick brown hair was loose and flowing around her shoulders. She regarded Donatello curiously, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

"Contemplating the meaning of life," Donatello responded tiredly, his voice muffled against the table cloth.

Irma chuckled lightly and took a seat next to him. "And did your genius mind reach any ground breaking conclusions?"

The inventor shrugged and moved his head back to its original position on the table top. "Ask Monty Python, because I have nothing."

"I don't think you'll be winning any Nobel Prizes with that one," she quipped dryly.

Donatello "harrumphed" and responded, "I couldn't even if I wanted to."

He straightened himself back up in his seat and crossed his arms defensively. The tight fabric of the tuxedo pulled on his shoulders and he could feel the protests of the stitching.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, "What are you doing over here, anyways? Need me to fix your hair dryer or did your date not show up?"

Irma's pink painted lips formed themselves into a hurt frown.

"You looked upset, so I came over to see if you were ok, and you give me a rotten attitude? No matter the species - human or reptile - all men are the same! Rude, immature, and have no idea how to treat a lady!"

Donatello was used to Irma's emotional outbursts, but the fact that she had been concerned about _him_ caught the purple masked turtle off guard. He was accustomed to his brothers getting the focus of others' attention. Michelangelo and Raphael definitely had louder personalities and were much more outgoing, and Leonardo as the leader of the team naturally was put in the spotlight on numerous occasions.

His eyes widened in shock as he stammered, "Irma - I -"

"Don't 'Irma' me, Donatello!"

The human huffed in indignation and quickly spun on her heels to walk away. A wave of guilt hit Donatello like an unexpected slap of a bo. The genius would be one of the first to admit that Irma could be obnoxious at times...and completely clueless…

 _...but there are times when she is resourceful and kind...she is one of the few humans who actually accept us for who we are. She sees us as individuals and not freaks of nature._

As Irma took a step forward, Donatello instinctively darted out a hand and gripped her wrist. Her expression was still offended, but her eyes were questioning.

Despite being friends with a few humans, the genius had had very little physical contact with them. He had a difficult time trusting humans, and they still made him uncomfortable in close proximity. Thus, his spontaneous action surprised even himself.

Irma's chocolate orbs darted between his closed hand and his stunned expression. Both of them remained silent and unmoving for a stretched out moment. Time seemed to have encased itself in the impossibly frigid confines of absolute zero.

 _Her skin is so soft…_

"I'm - I'm sorry, Irma," Donatello apologized softly. "I'm just confused right now...and _frustrated…_ "

Irma's expression softened and she smiled as she responded playfully, "I didn't know that big brain of yours knew how to be confused."

Donatello returned her smile, but it was a watery grin that did not reach his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wracking his mind for what to say. He had already opened up to her more with his previous statement than he had even to his own brothers and adoptive father in a long time.

"My brothers confuse me," he whispered.

Irma raised an inquisitive eyebrow and said lightly, "Don't they confuse everybody? I know they baffle the heck outta me…"

Donatello chuckled weakly, fumbling nervously with the pleats in his pants.

 _What do I say? How do I explain? I'm the genius! I should know to articulate this…_

 _...I can recite from memory the periodic table..._

 _...Solve a complex equation without a calculator in a matter of moments…_

 _...Flawlessly switch between the 20 languages I am proficient in…_

 _...I am well versed in all of the prominent psychological theories..._

 _...I keep the lair running, our lives comfortable, keep us healthy, safe…_

 _...all with my knowledge…_

 _...and yet I'm having difficulty explaining myself right now?_

 _...I've always been able to figure out the answer to any outside problem…_

 _...but now it's within...I_ think _it's within…_

He grasped for words like they were slippery strands of spaghetti. He began to desperately wish that he were at home, alone, in his lab...with only his inventions and science to keep him company.

 _And does therein lie part of the problem?_

 _I_ know _psychology! I know what motivates my brothers, and while I don't always understand them, I am familiar with how they react, how they think and feel in certain situations…_

 _...and yet...myself?..._

 _...objective scientist, right?..._

 _...I don't need what they need…_

…

…

 _...right?_

Donatello mutely gestured to his brothers on the dance floor. The dance couples swirled in a blur of brightly colored gowns, sparkling rhinestones, and stuffy tuxedos. The music had become more animated, filling the event room with a boisterous tune that did nothing to elate Donatello's mood.

It felt at odds with him, pushing and pulling like a relentless tide.

Irma followed his motion and remarked quizzically, "They're dancing, Donatello, and it's a party. What's so weird about that?"

He took in a deep steadying breath, anchoring his being as he tried to put to words the torrents of his mind. He had always pushed them away, sweeping them to the far corners of his thoughts like Michelangelo tried to hide pizza crumbs under the couch. Now he was being faced with them, bombarded by blasts of indescribable emotion that Irma's prodding questions were coaxing out, as if they were a lab animal just released and tentatively tasting freedom for the first time.

Donatello was sure of was that his brothers did care about him, but they had always viewed him as the aloof, eccentric genius. Amongst the mockery of his explosive failures, the hounding for repairs, and the bored brush offs of his explanations, he often felt like he had no other choice but to box himself away.

"It's not the fact that they are dancing, Irma. I don't understand _why._ _Why_ do they seek girlfriends ... _mates? Why_ are they with them? We're not human, we're mutant turtles. It's not like they will be able to perpetuate their genes. They are wasting life and hope."

"Why shouldn't your brothers find true love, Donatello? It's so romantic…" Irma sighed dreamily.

Donatello narrowed his eyes in vexation, "I don't expect you to understand, Irma. You're _obsessed_ with finding a husband."

"I am not obsessed!" she immediately protested, but relented with the dubious glare the genius shot her. "Ok….maybe just a little…" she concluded quietly. She glanced down at her shoes for a moment, and then raised her chocolate eyes to Donatello's onyx ones. "It's not all about 'perpetuating genes' and whatnot, Donatello."

Donatello drew his mouth into a taut line. like a rope stretched to its limit and ready to snap. "It all comes down to the science, Irma. It's a complex system of neurochemicals leading to attraction, sexual desire, and attachment. I have researched it extensively ever since the four of us began puberty. We are part human, so obviously our mutant genome would be equipped with human qualities, as well as terrapin, but my brothers don't comprehend it as I do. They think with entirely too _human_ minds. They are chasing dreams, when they should be grounded in reality."

Irma placed her hands on her hips, her expression a mix of stern anger and pity.

"So what, you expect that you all will just bask on rocks under a sun lamp for your lives?"

"No, of course not -"

"Maybe much on some lettuce leaves and paddle in a fishbowl?"

" _No…"_ Donatello's ire with everything was beginning to flare like the famous temper of Raphael.

"Cozy up to some plastic palm trees and -"

" _NO!"_ Donatello snapped to his feet, his hands flat against the table. His shoulders heaved with the force of his breathing. He hadn't yelled loud enough to be heard over the crowd and music, but it was powerful enough to make Irma flinch at the intensity of the word.

She stayed her ground as if her high heels were buried in the dirt.

"Then what?" she asked firmly.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Donatello roared, his arms raising in frustration and then falling heavily back to his sides.

He sensed peoples' curious stares, but they only lasted a moment. The music never skipped a beat.

"I don't know…" His throat clenched, and the words came out strangled and breathy. He looked at his feet, a feeling of shame filling him.

There was much that Irma could not figure out about Donatello. He could be boastful, arrogant and somewhat egotistical at times - especially when showcasing his knowledge and inventions - but at there were also moments that he was soft, reserved, and unsure...almost like a small child forever seeking the approval of others. The window to his inner workings was dingy, only rarely showing a clear glimpse of what truly lay within. Irma had a nagging notion that maybe Donatello himself didn't have a unclouded view either.

She gently placed a hand under his chin, and he started slightly at the contact. The human forced him to look at his brothers. It may have been a trick of the dim lights in the darkened corner, but she could have sworn that she saw glimmers of moisture trapped in the rims of his eyes.

"Look at them, Donatello," she said soothingly, without her normal dry sarcasm or shrill emotion. "They look so happy. You all work so hard to keep the world safe, forever putting yourselves in peril for the sake of humans who shun you. Why deny them a little happiness and the chance at love? Why deny _yourself_?"

His pupils constricted, and an eye twitched, but he otherwise remained silent.

"Love isn't just about _science,_ Donatello, so get your head out of your dusty textbooks and late night internet searches and try to see it as it really is. It's about finding someone who compliments you...someone who balances you out and brings out the best in you. Love is patient, and love is kind…"

"'It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.'" Donatello quoted. "1 Corinthians 13:4-8, New International Version of the Christian Bible."

"Yah, I was raised Jewish...but I always liked that quote."

Donatello gave her a weak grin.

"I don't expect you to get it right away, Donatello, but give your brothers the benefit of the doubt here. They are good guys..." She reached out a hand, which Donatello reluctantly took. "...as are you…" she grinned widely, which seemed to make her whole expression light up with a youthful, pure beauty.

 _For a human...she can look...nice…_

A classical Mozart piece began playing, the music drifting over to the pair, sweet and melodic; flowing and peaceful like an untouched mountain stream. The tune filled him, embraced him, submerged him in its cooling depths.

"Now come on, Donatello, let's dance. I'm a lady, and it's befitting of a proper gentleman to lead a lady in a dance."

"I - I - no…" Donatello said hesitantly waving his hands in front of himself in a negatory motion. "The guys might see me and it would just be -"

"How about we make a compromise. Dance with me here...just us...away from all of them."

The genius shook his head vehemently. "I'm a scientist, not a ballerina."

"What are you afraid of, smart guy?" Irma goaded. "I'm not making you wear a frilly tutu."

"Fine…" Donatello relented.

 _She probably won't relent until I acquiesce to this ridiculousness._

Leading her to a clear spot behind the table, Donatello bowed gracefully to his partner, who curtseyed in return. He put a hand on her shoulder and one around her back, just as he had seen Raphael doing earlier.

Irma pulled in nearer than he had intended as they began to sway to the music, causing Donatello to inadvertently tense up. Her brunette hair tickled his face and smelled of vanilla and lilacs. It was strange, distracting, and overwhelming him with a nervous self consciousness. He fought the urge to both escape and pull her closer still at the same time. It was both pleasant, and nerve wracking.

"You may be a genius, Donatello, but you have a lot to learn about dancing," Irma chuckled into his tuxedo lapels. "Just relax, don't think, and react. Stop torturing yourself."

The hum of her voice vibrated through his chest, causing a shiver to run through this spine. Part of him _wanted_ to let go, _wanted_ to experience what his brothers were feeling, whatever that was. But he didn't know; it was locked away, deep in the recesses of his mind, churning in the violent undertow. He couldn't access what they felt...only something else that was crushing to realize.

 _Envy…_ he thought in a nearly silent murmur.

It came to the surface like a breaching whale, and his eyes widened at the sudden realization. He subconsciously held Irma to his plastron tighter.

"I envy them," he spoke in wonder.

Irma stopped dancing, but didn't release her embrace.

"Why?"

"Sometimes…" he began, the word drifting off and was followed by an uneasy silence. He closed his eyes tightly and turned his head away. He then opened his eyes slowly, observing his brothers as they continued to dance. "Sometimes…" he repeated, the word more distant as his irises followed their motions across the floor. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just the handyman to them..I am capable of _so much more_...and yet they clamor for me to fix the tv or the oven or the cheapskates...they don't take me _seriously._ And then...through it all, with us being _what_ we are...they find _them._ And _I?_ I have a lab full of things that no one will ever see. They are the _heroes._ I am the reluctant engineer."

"Donatello...listen…" she said adamantly, "You are _just_ as much a hero as they are, and just as worthy. The four of you _need_ each other. That much I am sure of. I may not be anywhere near as smart as you...but I'm smart enough to realize what a good heart you have."

"I don't -"

She cut him off by leaning forward and giving him a chaste kiss on his beak. He stared at her in shock while his cheeks turned the color of Raphael's mask. The pure, raw emotion jolting through him was almost more than he could handle. It was like a hurricane was breaking down the fortress of his mind.

He didn't think.

He reacted.

Like a potent chemical reaction.

He initiated the kiss this time. It was sloppy and inexperienced at first, a spontaneous action filled with explosive feeling. One hand tangled itself in her silken hair, thick strands looping themselves around his large fingers. His other hand was anchored to her back, pressing her closer still.

She let out a surprised squeak, not expecting this from the reserved genius. She reached her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as he grew accustomed to the action.

Donatello closed his eyes and lost himself in everything: her flowery, feminine scent, the feel of her velvety lips on his own, the rings of her tresses entwined in tight, cutting circles around his fingers, the hums emitting from her throat as his free hand wandered up and down her back in gentle exploration, and the intense thrumming of his own blood as it pounded and raged through his arteries and veins.

He wasn't sure who broke the kiss first, but when they parted, their breaths came in ragged, breathless pants. The turtle was speechless, in awe of his own thoughtless action.

Irma's cheeks were flushed, her glasses drooping on the bridge of her nose. Donatello wordlessly reached up a hand to place them in their proper position and then brushed the errant bangs off her forehead. She had never seen such intense emotions laid open in Donatello's eyes before, and it left her breathless.

"Thank you," he finally spoke, breaking the silent magic between the two.

She furrowed her eyebrows in curiosity, her expression indicating her want of an explanation.

"Generally, the greatest scientific achievements are made by strict adherence to the scientific method," he remarked, his voice returning to its de facto informative tone. "But sometimes," he continued, his voice softening, "the greatest scientific achievements are made by chance discovery. And _sometimes_...those unforeseen breakthroughs are the most monumental of all."

"And did you reach any monumental conclusions, Mr. Scientist?" Irma smiled, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes, I did," he said matter-of-factly before he flashed her a toothy grin, "but I think that further _experimentation_ is required in order to reach a definitive conclusion."

 _I am a scientist afterall…_

 _But I'm also more...how much so I'm not completely sure of yet…_

He moved in and kissed her once again. This time it was more confident and smooth, the two falling into a passionate rhythm.

 _But it's a start._

 **A/N: Man...that was long! If you're still with me in the end here, I thank you for reading and I hope you liked it!**


End file.
